Ode To A Suriname Toad.

I can’t remember ever having written much in the way of poetry, maybe when I was a kid at school but not much since.

At our school, which is quite big on paying lip service to things, they have this thing called “Secret Friends” which you can sign up for.  What happens is that you fill in this questionnaire about the things you like and your secret friend has to give you little presents and stuff, based on your preferences from your questionnaire.

Naturally, I’ve not signed up for it but today a teacher came to my classroom and told me that their secret friend had put me down as their favourite poet which, based on my total lack of poetic output, seems a bit odd.  Maybe they’re taking the piss, I don’t know.

Anyway, this teacher asked me if I would write their secret friend a poem and that they were into reptiles, lizards and amphibians, so could I write a poem about that for them?  I said I’d have a go and, unsurprisingly, what my tawdry brain churned out ended up being daft, scatalogical and mildly rude.  I don’t know if they’re going to be into it, but if they put me down as their favourite poet, I would have thought that they must be expecting something along those lines.  If they’re not, they should have picked someone less infantile, shouldn’t they?

Anyway, here it is:

Ode To A Suriname Toad

The Suriname toad has no need for commodes,

She can’t sit, so the river’s bestowed,

With her brown effluent, a warm gift that she sent,

Horizontally propelled to ferment,

On the bed of the river which is where boy toads give her,

Their babies and what’s next makes me shiver.


The Suriname toad bears a curious load,

‘Cause her back is her babies’ abode,

When they hatch, they explode and I’d quite like to know,

What she thinks of that toad Romeo,

Who left her alone, like her babies – who’ve flown,

Down river, where they make their new homes.

But sadly…

The Suriname toad’s not even a toad,

She’s a frog and what’s more, she is owed,

A little respect, though I strongly suspect,

She’ll get none as the male is bedecked,

With no tongue for to croak and just like human blokes,

Not much brain or much sense if they spoke.

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